Roaring Pride and Hissing Prejudice
by Denying Insanity
Summary: Your job, is to get into her pants by the end of this year." she's an insufferable know-it-all, he's got a reputation to keep and a secret: he's a virgin. So what happens when Blaise sneaks his way into a bargain that Draco isn't sure he can carry out?
1. Prologue

**Alright, guys!**

**So I'm rewriting "The Bargain," so that hopefully now I may have a clearer direction of what I'm doing, and that the story may flow a bit more smoothly. Trying my best to improve and keep this error-free, so if you find any, don't be scared to shoot me a note! The title has been obviously changed.**

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**Prologue:

The air hung thick with tension. Tension so palpable, so condescending and discriminating, it was almost overbearing. Minerva McGonagall was sure that if looks could kill, one of her two most stellar students – both of them, really – would be six feet under by now. Once upon a time, the man who would have sat in the chair she occupied now; high and imposing behind the long wooden desk when in comparison to the placement of the other two – this man, always with a quick smile to his face and a permanent twinkle in his eye, would have found most enjoyment out of this situation. He would have found the current exchange of hatred and displeasure interesting and hilarious, to say the least. McGonagall did not. She had never had the patience that professor Dumbledore was able to exert while he was headmaster, nor did she particularly have any of his good natured humor. In fact, she was quite exasperated as she watched the blonde young man and fervent brunette shoot daggers at each other with their gaze. Good natured humor, indeed. If only.

Some amusement, although very dry on its own standing, could be drawn from all of this. McGonagall, always a stickler for tradition, had ensured that the students whose educations were interrupted by the war had a fair chance at graduating. She had pleaded again and again with the Ministry of Magic, and after enough persuasion they had consented. For once since the war did the Ministry see that students' getting a proper education was by no means a threat to organized government, but an aid; after all, what would become of Wizarding England if the next wave of wizards and witches could not perform basic spells to begin with? And so, the Ministry convinced parents to let their children return to Hogwarts to repeat their school year; those who were already of age were invited as cordially as possible to join as well. Hermione Granger, now sitting in front of her, was thrilled to accept upon first notice. Mr. Malfoy's mother had to be persuaded a bit more.

The girl's fists were now balled up on her lap as she put all of her might into a staring contest with Draco Malfoy, who was sitting rather stoically, yet with a glare of his own.

This had been going on for far too long.

"I am safe to assume by your silence, then, that you two accept?" asked professor McGonagall. This had seemed to be too much to ask. The previous bickering started immediately.

"Professor, you _must_ certainly be mistaken!" cried a desperate Hermione, looking bewildered as her gaze broke away from Mr. Malfoy's.

"Believe it or not, _Granger_, there are people in this world who can appreciate me," Draco supplied, spitting out Hermione's last name as if he simply had prevented himself from saying something far more inappropriate in front of the Headmistress. McGonagall had no chance to respond to the statement that had been clearly directed towards her, so she watched on.

"Oh, yeah? You mean like your Death Eater of a father?" Hermione bit harshly, color rising quickly to her cheeks. Draco's receded to pure white.

"_Miss Granger!"_

Hermione looked up, a mixture of surprise, fear, and self disapproval creeping on her features. She had obviously let her anger loose in the heat of the moment. The look of disappointment on McGonagall's face was enough to shame the girl into silence. Good.

This was dry amusement, indeed. McGonagall had always tried, much like every other person on staff before her – except perhaps for professor Snape and Salazar Slytherin himself – to preserve and encourage House friendship and cooperation. Yet, here she was with the two students who were most unlikely to ever cooperate with each other, much less create a friendship. Hermione Granger was a mixture of shame, embarrassment, and anger. Draco Malfoy was obviously seething in his spot. McGonagall could only assume, and did not want to really find out, what was going through his head at the moment.

"I am sorry, Ms. Granger, that you dislike what I've proposed," she said, to which Hermione opened her mouth, ready to say something. McGonagall put her hand up and continued, determined not to be interrupted just yet. "However, I feel as though the post of Head Girl and Head Boy should be given to the two who were most deserving in academic standard."

Both of them looked up at the Headmistress, one in defeat, the other one in obvious pride. Hermione Granger did not like knowing that somebody else could rival her intelligence and grades, much less being told about it. The young man standing there; still pale, and with what appeared to be fists shoved into his pockets; seemed to smirk with pride for a passing second before he scowled back at Ms. Granger. McGonagall inwardly cringed at the words that followed out of her own mouth:

"You may, as you know, resign this post if you really find such objections to the job, Ms. Granger."

The dignified huff that came out of the girl was all McGonagall needed. You can take the girl out of Gryffindor, but you can't take Gryffindor out of the girl. She knew instantly that Hermione would not back out, and felt a pride inside of her resembling that of a mother hen seeing its first chick come out of the egg. To expect anything less of a Gryffindor would be to deny her own legacy as the Head of House for the lions: a title that she held in feverish pride, even though it had been passed onto another professor.

Draco looked disappointed. He quipped, "And here I was about to do a little victory dance, Granger; pity."

Hermione glared at him with such a passion, that she turned several shades of red – and this time it wasn't due to embarrassment. "I'd rather jump off the astronomy tower first, Malfoy, than hand over the position I've worked so hard for all these years because of you."

"Be my guest."

"Bite me."

"That's disgusting – you probably taste rotten, much like your bloo-"

"_Children!"_

She was ready to pull her graying hair out. These two would probably make her hair go white in the blink of an eye if she didn't get them to shut up. She'd be glad to have them out of her office.

"That is enough, Mr. Malfoy! Watch your mouth, 'lest you want me to enchant a soap bar into washing it for the next millennia. And you, Ms. Granger – I expected better behavior!" she gave them a glare that made them both shrink in their seats; Hermione looked as though her ego was positively deflated. "I am asking you; please act like the grown up you claim to be!"

She looked at Malfoy; he was not getting off the hook so easily. "As for you, Mr. Malfoy – you know very well that this is _not_ up for discussion. Be thankful that the only duties and time you'll be serving are here within this castle and not with your father."

The smug smirk he had directed towards Hermione got wiped off his face so fast that she would have missed it had she batted an eyelash. The nagging feeling inside her told her that she should be cautious with her words to her students. It kept on creeping up, and she had tried her best to stay neutral, but sometimes – enough was enough. In all truth, Draco Malfoy was only here so that he may avoid a darker sentence in Azkaban, and right now she had no problem in reminding him of it.

"Do I make myself clear?" she asked one last time. Both students nodded resentfully, but remained quiet. She sat back down; she hadn't noticed that she had sprung up from her chair at the inappropriate conversation.

"Now, as for living arrangements: you," she looked over both, almost in warning, "will be sharing a common room for the year. Your belongings have been placed in your respective rooms."

A collective groan from both was heard, but it was obvious they had no intention of arguing – as much as their faces betrayed how much it took out of them to not do so. She ignored them.

"You will be sharing the bathroom with the prefects, as we have of yet to create a decent bathroom within your quarters. I am sorry about this." Both nodded. McGonagall could have sworn they looked rather relieved. Well, Ms. Granger looked relieved, Mr. Malfoy quickly masked whatever expression he was about to let on.

"Well, now…are there any more questions?"

Silence.

"Well, then. Off you go."

They both stood, giving each other a wide berth to ensure that whatever it was they hated about the other did not rub off on them. McGonagall nearly rolled her eyes. Hermione went first, stomping her way out of the office, with Malfoy following behind, lax in his step yet his stance was stiffer than ever.

Merlin, was she glad to have them out of her office. She looked on at the portrait of a sleeping Dumbledore, and asked with a sigh, "How did you do it, Albus?" but the only response she was met with was a series of soft, breathy snores, from what was now only a shadow copy of the previous headmaster.

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**Ok, so what do you guys think so far?**


	2. Peer pressure

**A/N: Thank you guys for the reviews! I feel like I'm doing a bit of a better job with this than with the first writing of The Bargain. Anyway, on with the story! Reviews are always much appreciated.**

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Draco Malfoy watched the huffy Gryffindor girl walking in front of him with disdain. She was stomping her feet as though her life depended upon making holes in the castle floor with every step. He was too angry to even bother making a snide remark at this point. His blood was still flowing the other way, boiling through him as he mentally bore holes into her retreating back and stuffed the imaginary openings with poison. Were it not likely, or rather, absolutely positive, that he would lose his post as a Head Boy, he would have already taken his wand out and hexed her on the spot.

Her mad, hushed rambling and hurried steps resonated from the old castle walls right back into his eardrums to create what only felt like a cacophony of noise against his heart pounding in his ears. How_ dare_ that ugly little rat even bring up his father's name? The wincing pain, shame, fury, and desolation that had clouded him for so long came back in a torrential tide of anger that left him seeing white spots while standing in McGonagall's office. They flooded him with a force that he could barely contain.

Draco kept on walking, a sharp pressure against the back of his eyeballs, his nostrils flaring with every hot, jerky intake of breath. He kept on tightening his wand hand into a fist, and straightening it back out, in hopes of getting rid of that annoying, tingly little itch he felt. Grabbing for his wand might be the worst idea he could ever come up with at this moment. His surroundings were a blur to him at the moment; he was livid. In fact, he was so angry that he didn't notice that Blaise Zabini had walked up to him; he had been too busy fixating his eyes on the back of the annoying, insufferable know-it-all, and recalling every nasty spell he had ever learned about, to notice that his best friend had been walking next to him for a good two minutes.

"So, do you agree?" asked Blaise, a smirk on his lips. Draco stopped dead on his tracks.

"What?"

"I asked – do you want to go streaking by the lake to scare away a few first years?"

Draco gave him the most confused look Blaise had ever seen grace the blonde boy's face. He smiled, shaking his head and fixing his own slanted, dark eyes on him.

"Shows how much you were paying attention, mate," he continued, patting Draco on the shoulder to get him to snap out of it. He still looked ready to chew through a wall.

That look didn't particularly suit him, either. Draco looked ghastly. His clothes looked too big on him, from what Blaise could only assume was rapid weight loss; the dark circles under his steely grey eyes seemed to now be a permanent fixation on his features, and the look of anger he currently sported made him look either really scary, or really pitiful depending how one looked at him.

"Oh," was all Draco responded with, his gaze returning ahead, but Hermione Granger had already walked away, leaving only an empty, gloomy hall behind her with Draco standing in it.

"What was that about?" asked the dark-skinned Slytherin standing next to him.

He was wearing matching robes to that of Draco's, excellent and pristine in quality, with every fold where it should be, and no wrinkle to be spoken of, as was expected of a true Slytherin.

"I just got the post of Head Boy," Draco answered, sounding none too excited about passing on the news.

"Congratulations mate!"

Blaise was trying his best to cheer the guy up but, at Draco's lack of response, he gave it up for a lost cause. He went onto ask in a nonchalant manner, "So what are you so worked up about?"

Draco's head turned to look at his friend as though he had grown a second, no – a third head, and pointed down at the now empty hall. "I have to work with _her_! That bloody nuisance!"

Blaise smiled. He had not missed a murderous-looking Hermione walking down the hall, it was hard to ignore the girl – her hair made her look like she was attached to tumbleweed flying at eighty miles an hour; and he could only assume the Gryffindor had put his friend in such a volatile mood. None could blame him, really. Yet, he wasn't about to inquire as to what exactly had put him in _that_ much of a volatile mood. To his understanding, Draco could always find joy in being able to torment the mudblood - and Blaise had only seen him this mad when she had managed to break his nose.

Blaise looked at Draco's face. His nose was still very much intact.

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Hermione had never been so furious in her life. She might have been mad many times before over stupid things: like Ron copying off her homework because he had snuck away to play Quidditch the night before instead of doing the reading, or having gotten one or two points below a perfect score before – something that was _clearly _uncommon for her. The only class where she ever got anything below perfect was in Professor Snape's potion class. She had been mad or upset about many things during her school years, but never _furious_; definitely not furious like she was now.

"Stupid, obnoxious ferret," she grumbled to herself.

Storming into the great hall, she immediately sought her place by her friends and sat down at the Gryffindor table.

Ron was the first to notice her sitting down. Ginny and Harry were too distracted finding new ways of making human fusion possible. She looked up at them, made a face, and then at her boyfriend, who gave her a half smile while he wrapped his arms around his now growling stomach. You could always count on Ron to think about his stomach first.

"Is the sorting about to start?" she asked, her tone of voice showing she didn't really care, but small conversation was better than none.

Just as Ron was about to speak, however, the stool was brought out with a raggedy looking pile of old, patched up leather resembling a witch's hat. Ginny and Harry were forced to unlock jaws. They noticed her, finally, and gave her an apologetic grin. Well, Harry did.

"How are you, 'Mione?" he asked, the blush on his face so bright that his scar seemed to disappear for a moment.

"I'm fine," she answered, yet, she wasn't bloody fine. She wanted to scream, kick, and yell at the obnoxious blonde man sitting three tables away. This was _not_ how she had wanted things to go! Her friend saw right through her and gave her a knowing look, yet was tugged by Ginny to pay attention to the ceremony.

So Hermione proceeded to sit through the sorting ceremony with little interest and even less of an attention span as the list of names kept on rolling. Instead, her eyes were diverted towards the house tables. Few students were paying attention, most others were simply occupying their time with whatever they could find handy.

Her eyes kept on darting to the staff table, and back to the Slytherin table where a haughty looking Draco Malfoy sat. Hermione noted that, albeit he was sitting by Goyle, Zabini, and Parkinson, he looked positively alienated: Goyle and Zabini were laughing at something, Parkinson was looking murderous – over what, Hermione could not imagine; and then there was Draco Malfoy. He sat with seemingly just as little interest in the ceremony as she herself felt. His eyes were staring ahead at nothing in particular, cheek in hand as he rested his elbow in front of him. Could she really be able to work with him?

Merlin, no. This was Malfoy! She could barely stand the sight of him, much less be able to work with him. But, she had to be professional about this. It was her duty as a student, and she had to be a role model, she kept telling herself.

As the last name was called off, Professor McGonagall stood up.

"Congratulations to all of you first years!" cheering ensued, and a pleasing look flashed through the Headmistress' facial features.

"And now, a few announcements: Mr. Filch would like to remind you that the forbidden forest is forbidden for a reason – you may not go in without an instructor."

Everyone sighed, same old song. "Also, I would like to take this time to introduce to you students your new Prefects, Head Boy, and Head Girl."

McGonagall named the prefects and their houses, who stood up for acknowledgement, then sat back down quickly. The headmistress looked towards the two opposing tables, ready to call on Hermione and Malfoy.

"And finally, your Head Boy and Head Girl."

She watched Malfoy stand up, and stood up as well. Ron, and Harry congratulated her happily, while Ginny made a whistling noise after her in the form of a cat call that made Hermione blush. They all knew she'd get the position. They'd be more surprised if she _hadn't._ And then their eyes spotted Malfoy.

"What?"

"Him?"

"Why?! Bloody ferret! You are _not _working with him, 'Mione! I forbid it."

Hermione wasn't paying attention. Her gaze was locked with Malfoy's in a staring match to see who looked away. She really did hate having to work with the likes of him. Before either could blink, talking around the hall broke the silence.

The great hall was immediately submerged in the smell of the hot dishes that magically apparated onto the tables. Chatter livened up again, everyone happy to be able to finally satisfy their hunger; none looked as eager as Ron did. He was always the same.

Hermione took her place by him, her nostrils immediately filled with the rich smell of delicious roasted chicken, baked potatoes, and an assortment of other foods. Serving herself a bit of everything, she settled down to eat, her mind too clouded to really pay attention to her food.

The boys got into an argument about broomsticks with their neighbors, animatedly swinging their arms around in cheering laughter and lively discussion about Quidditch; Harry's eyes glazed over about being able to capture the snitch once more. Ron was going red in the face at the Cannons being insulted as a poor team, and Seamus was laughing his rear off at something Sean had said. Ginny had turned the other way, talking to Pavarti Patil about fashion, and robes, hair and makeup tricks, and everything Hermione was not interested about.

And so she was left to her own thoughts, which she gladly welcomed. It often happened that, while she loved her friends, they tended to lack more things in common than otherwise.

She fixed herself on her food, only half picked at, a fork held limply in her hand. Her hunger had completely disappeared. All she had worked for _so_ hard…_and now I have to share my efforts with the most annoying, self absorbed, ridiculous brat! _

Yet, she was determined to not let him steal her spotlight. This was _her_ triumphant moment! She would be the adult and do what was right. And so she had made up her mind.

At the end of dinner, she cautiously walked up to him as he was leaving the Hall.

"Malfoy," she called, but he kept on going.

"MALFOY!"

He turned.

"Oh… _you_. What do you want, mudblood?"

Hermione glared in disgust, ready to punch him. Her fist missed the feeling of his nose cracking.

"Malfoy, I hate you; with a passion. Yet…" she stopped, was she even going to go through with this? This was almost a peace offering she wasn't particularly sure she wanted to make. But for her sake, if not his…

"Yet, what?" he looked at her blankly.

He cocked his head back so that he looked down his nose at her face, which to him looked as though it was taking her great effort not to contort.

"Well, I thought… since we're going to have to live together…"

"What? _EW_, Granger! You thought we could share a bed? I know how pathetically awkward you are, and that you're the least popular girl in school, but I wouldn't sleep with you in my wildest dreams!"

The thought of it was disgusting, but he was obviously trying to push her buttons. Hermione grunted in exasperation. She wouldn't take the bait. But it stung - there was some truth to his words.

"No, I meant," she shifted in her spot, but looked him in the eye, "that perhaps we should try to work together civilly?"

"Over my dead body, mudblood." He spat.

She glared, locking her jaw to keep herself from screaming. Oh, the temptation of punching him.

"Fine, then."

And with that, she stormed off, leaving Draco to stare.

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Blaise, who had followed Malfoy out of the hall shortly after, only caught part of the conversation between the Gryffindor and his friend. He arched an eyebrow lightly, walking up to the tall blonde now standing there looking like an idiot, Goyle in tail.

"What was _that?_"

"She's batshit crazy! Stupid girl's mad. Does she really expect _me_ to cooperate with the likes of _her_?" His nose wrinkled.

"Talking about mad, what the hell did you do to Pansy? She's been wearing the expression of a mad troll all night and already made five first years cry," Blaise said, a curious look on his face.

Draco groaned, combing his hair back with his hands. That woman was going to be the death of him. She was so clingy, so needy, so…so…so _Pansy._ Blaise was still staring at him. But before he could answer, Goyle opened up his huge trap:

"He rejected her."

This made Blaise perk up, a huge smirk spreading on his lips. "What do you mean, he rejected her, Goyle?" his eyes, however, had never once left Draco.

Of course Blaise knew what was going on. He was just playing idiot in the whole thing.

"I refused to sleep with her," he started walking away, wanting to get out of there as fast as he could.

"Why did you?" was all that was asked of him. Draco stopped, sighing.

He had never wanted a serious relationship with Pansy Parkinson. Sure, she was around for when he needed a cuddle, or just something warm to hold onto, but the girl had been so excited about his coming back to school that he was a little alarmed. She felt that purebloods needed to continue the line, and what better way for him to protect his _seed, _she had asserted. Draco shuddered. Blaise walked up to him, a smile a mile wide spreading on his face.

"I just…" he groaned, "it's _Pansy_ we're talking about!" was all he could say, in a whine.

"But, why?" Blaise wasn't going to let it go, "While she's not particularly the hottest thing in town, she's not that ugly," he looked up to his right, as if remembering something pleasant, it made Draco scoff in distaste, "and her legs aren't half bad."

Draco snorted and started walking again, hell bent on ignoring him, yet Blaise pursued.

"Is it because little Draco's scared?" he pulled Draco back. Had it been anybody else but Blaise, they would have found themselves cursed to death by now. _No one_ touched him like that, much less pulled him around. Instead of cursing, however, he chose to glare.

"No, I'm certainly not scared."

"So it's not because she's ugly," Blaise responded. "And it's not because you're scared."

After a few minutes of closely scrutinizing Draco, his eyes widened.

"Could it be…? No, no…" he said to himself in doubt, then looked at Draco, "Are you, perhaps, a virgin?!" he said teasingly, not really hoping for a reaction.

He half expected Draco to snort and shove him away, but Draco simply looked at him, slightly paling. And that was all the answer he needed; the jest in his voice completely disappeared, replaced by that of surprise and outright alarm.

"You are?!"

A cackle escaped Blaise. Goyle kind of let out a half heartened chuckle, obviously confused and not particularly sure whether he should laugh with Blaise or stay silent 'lest Draco knocked the daylights out of him. It quickly stopped at Draco's death stare.

"I don't see how that's any of your business, Zabini," Draco bit scathingly.

"So, if you're not scared, and you just don't want to do it with Pansy..." Blaise stopped, in an attempt to say this in any way that might sound a bit manlier, but he knew he was going to fail anyway. "Are you waiting for _the One_?"

"Oh don't be absurd, I don't care who it is."

"Really?"

"Are you deaf?"

"Well, no," Blaise responded, and then his face lit up in a manner Draco really did not appreciate seeing.

"So that means you'd sleep with anybody?" he was pushing Draco's patience to the limit. Draco turned on him and narrowed his eyes into tiny slits, yet the man standing in front of him seemed perfectly unfazed.

"Zabini, I warn you." But his threats were doing nothing for his friend, who looked at Goyle with a huge mischievous grin.

"Should we make him do something, Goyle?" he asked, obviously ignoring that Draco was standing right there, "maybe he could try to do it with a professor…"

Thankfully for Draco, Blaise shuddered at that idea, then looked at his friend again, more of a skeptical, dissecting look, rather than addressing him directly.

"Will you cut it out?"

But Blaise wasn't about to hear any of it.

"I know! What about a student?"

Draco snorted, yet he felt nervous inside. He really didn't want to stand around and let his friends decide what should become of his sex life. It wasn't as though he was scared of getting into any girls' pants before, it just simply happened to be that for the last year or two, he had more important things in mind. Or, rather, what he had _felt_ were more important things. Now he simply tried his best to ignore all of it.

"I don't think so, Blaise. If you're so interested in getting some random trollop laid, you should go do it yourself."

Blaise's smile grew bigger than Draco thought possible. "Yes! Thank you, Draco! She _should_ be a trollop!" He then looked at Goyle with an obvious agenda in mind.

"Why on Merlin's beard would I ever do any of this?!" Draco asked exasperated, throwing his arms up, and started walking towards the hall that would eventually lead to his new quarters.

His belongings had been moved well before he even stepped foot in the castle. The Prefects were up and about leading people to their common rooms, and that left him with nothing to do until tomorrow's meetings.

The low chuckle behind him sent a dreadful chill up his spine. He knew that chuckle, and did not like it. That's the kind of thing Blaise did when he felt especially evil, and he did not quite enjoy being on the receiving end of it.

"Because, Draco – you know just as well as we do that you have a reputation to keep," he said, walking over to Draco and draping an arm over his shoulders.

Blaise was perfectly aware that Draco Malfoy knew of his power over the students.

He was now a known death eater, and whatever respects the students had held for him had completely disappeared. It wasn't all a bad situation, really, for that respect was replaced with fear – and any power a Slytherin may have over the general population, no matter of what kind, was well welcome. He inspected his friend. He still looked as much in bad shape as he had a few hours ago, yet his imposing height and piercing grey eyes were very hard to ignore. Much as Draco himself would have hated to admit, he had grown to be very much like his father.

"Your point being?" Draco urged on, anxious to get Blaise out of his hair.

"What would everyone say if they found that dangerous, powerful Draco Malfoy was by all means a spring daisy yet to be deflowered?" Blaise responded with a question that made Draco halt.

Goyle ended up walking into Draco, and Blaise cackled.

Oh, this year was going to be interesting.

"Zabini…" Draco said dangerously, but Blaise clapped his hands, chipper about the whole deal.

"We'll let Goyle decide, to be fair!" he said, and Goyle looked slightly frightened.

Draco groaned.

"You _can't_ be bloody serious!"

Oh, but Blaise was. The look on his face answered Draco's question, and nothing else was left to say.

_This year's going to be bloody awful…_ was all Draco could think of while he turned and walked away, his friends turning towards the dungeons, laughing at what had now become Draco's obvious misfortune.


	3. An Arbitrary Choice

**Two chapters in less than a week! I'm on a roll here ;D Thank you, everyone! **All those of you who took the time to review, you guys keep me going. I love knowing that my readers care enough to leave a note, no matter how short it is, to let me know what they like. That said, do comment if there's something you DON'T like; if there's mistakes you find anywhere, also do let me know. I'm more than willing to answer any questions, and I always respond to any review that is left to which there's a 'response' link in my inbox.

**Disclaimer: I'm not making any money off this, and nothing belongs to me except the plot. Do not sue, I'm poor.**

**I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

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The Head Boy and Girl dormitory was quite something. The fire was roaring by the time she had stepped foot into the common room, the warmth enveloping her to her much welcome relief. She had had a bit of a problem giving the password to an old bard sitting inside his portrait, and had become cold standing outside. He was merry and kind, if only a bit spaced out – He told her his name was Braddock – Braddock the Bard. Hermione had to make sure he didn't babble on for too long about his grand tales of old. He finally opened up the wide, thick, and heavy wooden doors when he noticed Hermione wasn't particularly interested. They were framed by a pointed arch particular to gothic architecture. Upon immediate inspection, one could tell that McGonagall had gone out of her way to make sure that the common room was of no particular inclination to either one of the houses – there was no more green and silver than there was gold and red.

Yet closer inspection showed her meticulous planning at how the living quarters should be arranged.

The arrangements, from what Hermione could see as she walked around, consisted of a big common room carpeted in a rich, dark navy blue; almost bordering on black. The place was big enough to be considered the common room of a whole entire house: she and Malfoy were not to be the only inhabitants of this single space, at least. This gave her a bit of peace of mind, 'meetings with prefects could take place here,' she thought to herself. Three large couches faced the fireplace to the right, with a few sitting chairs scattered in the same direction. High above it sat a large scale version of the Hogwarts crest which took up most of the open space, while directly below, four smaller versions of each house crest were embedded into the wall. A few desks sat off to another side of the room for studying purposes.

The open curtains, which framed high ceiling windows, were light beige in color and looked heavy and thick; their obvious purpose was to keep cold air out while allowing some light through, yet they did a good job at making the place look elegant. They matched in color to the couches facing the fire, the pillows on the cushions of a light grey.

Satisfied with what she saw, and happy to be able to explore without interruption in the meantime, she walked to a door to her immediate left, away from the fire itself, that had been left slightly ajar. Two banners hung from the ceiling to about her eye level. On the left hung the banner of Gryffindor, and on the right, that of Slytherin. She could only assume this would lead to their rooms. As she entered, she found a smaller sitting room, similar to the common room, yet the only furniture to speak of was a couch, facing a miniature fire place compared to the previous one, and a large bookshelf lining one wall. The respective stairs to their rooms went their separate ways as she looked ahead. One labeled "Head Girl" and the other "Head Boy." Yet a third door was labeled "Bathroom," Hermione noted. It would probably lead to the prefects' bathroom McGonagall had spoken about.

She arched an eyebrow, "They can't possibly expect me to share a private space with him, can they?" yet she was already by the bookshelf, undoubtedly scouring the titles to find anything of interest.

"And why is that, Granger? Of the two of us, you're the one less worthy to share _any_ sort of living space with anybody," drawled a voice behind her, giving her such a start that her book fell out of her hands when she jumped.

Quickly collecting herself, she picked it up; then stood up as straight as her back would allow her, shoulders squared and head held high.

Hermione had been so distraught wondering about the living quarters, and indulging in the bookshelf, that she had completely missed Draco Malfoy walking in.

He was probably doing the same sort of scouting around that she had done previously. Dratted carpet, she thought. It had muted his steps.

He dragged on.

"You should be thankful. Were it for me, you'd be sleeping with the owls."

"They would make far better roommates than you could ever hope to be, Malfoy."

"Then why aren't you already there, sleeping on their droppings? Go back to the dirt you came from, mudblood."

That's it.

Rounding in on him, her wand was up in his face faster than he could have blinked. She gave him a level stare, and, to anyone who might be overhearing; she would have sounded like the most composed, diplomatic witch at Hogwarts. If it wasn't for her wand pointed threateningly between his eyes, that is.

"Look here, Malfoy. We have a mutual disregard for each other that we have acknowledged long before either one of us could ever dream of taking up this job," that was a lie, she had been dreaming about it the second she got her letter at home and found out that Head Girls existed. But he didn't need to know that, right? She continued:

"But the fact of the matter is – it is our job as the current Head Boy and Head Girl to set the example, and your name calling isn't certainly going to get us to do that."

To this, Draco arched an eyebrow, seemingly completely at ease in the face of danger, even if the tip of her wand was dangerously close to poking out one of his eyes.

"_My _name calling? Granger, last I checked, you had at least ten less than favorable adjectives to describe my character, if not more!"

"Oh, now you're being juvenile,"

"Juvenile? _Juvenile?!_ Who was it that was seconds away from throwing a temper tantrum in McGonagall's office?"

He wasn't in a good mood, having to look at her ugly little face only made it worse. The prospect of having to _live_ with the bint and her gargantuan mouth and saintly ego made him want to kick something. With luck, that something could turn out to be her.

She was the most insufferable (_God, that word seemed to pop up a lot in his mind whenever there was a need for something to think of Granger as_), filthy, self absorbed, pesky, uptight _bitch_ he had ever known. She was of lower social status, lacked any form of social popularity; she was of the absolute lowest of blood heritage; and she was friends with his enemies to the point where, were she a pureblood instead – something he shuddered to even consider – he'd _still _hate her!

The only thing he'd begrudgingly give her was the fact that she was smart, and even that he wasn't willing to celebrate, because it cost him the spot as top student in his year.

Granger narrowed her eyes, obviously trying to formulate words that did not quite come out. He smirked. Throughout the whole argument, Draco had not moved a single muscle. He was already used to her pointing her wand at his face – as she had deemed necessary in many occasions during their unfortunate acquaintance these past seven years.

He had won, for now.

He had half expected her to try to swing at his face for the second time in her life, but instead she put her wand away and tartly bit out what he was sure had not been her first choice of words.

"Meeting. Tomorrow. In the common room."

And with that, she turned and walked straight towards the Gryffindor banner, up the stairs, and into what he presumed was her room, from the way a door was harshly slammed.

His thoughts were mirrored upstairs, in the form of mad ranting.

"Merlin's Beard!"

Hermione plopped herself on the bed, this time not bothering to take in the surroundings of her room like she had with the rest of the place. She kicked her shoes off, tossed her robe on a nearby chair close to a small study desk, pulled her Gryffindor tie off, and then proceeded to wrap it around a bed post and pull it tight – imagining that the slim wood was Malfoy's neck.

In the comfort of her room, she could do as she pleased. She would rant, rave, scream, and cry in abandon if she wanted to. But her mind was, despite her best judgment; too busy trying to find ways to just plain never see him again. It was like Malfoy was born with the sole purpose in life to get under her skin.

With her friends, she was always the cool-headed one in heated situations; with everybody else, she was smart, poised, well articulated, and lived by her mother's rule to never speak about a person at all if you can't find something nice to say about them first. But with Malfoy – Malfoy was another beast completely.

With Malfoy, her cool thinking went out the window. Her diplomacy was lost, her composure was nearly non-existent; and there was nothing that could ever come out of her mind about Malfoy that wasn't about how heinous, despicable, and foul he was.

"Argh!" was all she could let out before she tossed herself onto the bed, not bothering to change out of her uniform.

All she wanted was to will her mind to forget the horrible day that had just taken place. And with that, sleep soon came. But it didn't come nicely.

She was having annoying nightmares all night about a certain blonde usurping her current job. Her eyes opened blankly to a dark ceiling and her room showered in moonlight. She swung her legs from the bed, grabbed her toiletries, and went down the dark steps.

The door to the prefect's bathroom was closed. Pressing an ear to it, she heard nothing.

"Thank goodness, I'll have the bathroom to myself," she whispered to herself.

Entering, she felt a set of eyes on her. It was a mermaid, sitting in her portrait – watching Hermione curiously while brushing her long hair.

"What are you looking at?" she asked. She could have sworn the mermaid sniffed at her with indignation.

Without any other thought of wonder at the mermaid, she marbled on the bathroom itself, then slipped into the big pool-sized bathtub, turned on the water, and started to relax. With a flick of her wand, she reminded herself to bolt all doors. She knew a password was needed for the main entrance, but the one from her own quarters did not – and the last thing she needed was ferret walking in on her.

* * *

Breakfast time rolled by and Draco sat at the Slytherin table picking at his food. Whatever hunger he had previously felt had been driven away by Blaise Zabini's far-too-cheerful greeting, and by Parkinson's face. It quickly dawned on him that Blaise had not been kidding the day before.

"Listen, Blaise – I..." he started, only to be cut off by Pansy, who came up behind him, Goyle following the first two.

"Good morning, _Draco,_" she hissed.

Draco wasn't sure whether to acknowledge her, and risk that she might get the wrong impression, or ignore her and risk his neck. His neck was more precious to him.

"Blaise, this whole thing isn't a good idea."

"What isn't a good idea?" the girl asked, looking between a smirking Blaise and Draco.

"It's for your own good, Draco," supplied Blaise, sitting next to him and grabbing himself a bowl of porridge, deliberately putting some space between Draco and a resentful Pansy.

"What's for your own good?"

They both ignored her. Goyle sat himself on Draco's other side, and started piling on the food wordlessly. He didn't speak much nowadays. Not that he ever did, but this year he was more silent than usual. That is, unless Blaise or Draco probed him to talk. Blaise was the one doing the probing now.

"So, Goyle – think of anybody yet?"

Goyle looked up, rather confused for a few seconds, before a light-bulb went off in his little head and his eyes widened a little. He shook his head, and stayed quiet.

Draco felt relieved. Perhaps Goyle did know more than Draco gave him credit for.

"Think of what?" came a dry voice from behind them. Theodore Nott, a tall, thick kind of fellow with too much intelligence for his own good and too little words to spare for anybody else, sat across the table from the group. Greetings were passed about, and he soon busied himself with food.

He used to be quite a loner, but had somewhat come out of his shell, and now stood on equal footing with Blaise in Draco's circle of friends.

Blaise smiled, but said nothing. Nott would figure it out eventually.

Pansy kept on whining to the boys about what it was they were keeping from her. Blaise lied, telling her that it was a surprise. Well, technically that wasn't a lie. Blaise knew it'd be a _HUGE_ surprise; just not the kind of surprise she'd ever liked.

For once, he had the upper hand against Draco. He liked and respected his friend, but it felt good to have that upper hand once in a while. Nott gave him a curious look, but chose to let it go… for now.

Schedules were handed around by the Head of Slytherin, and everyone soon diverted the conversation to what classes they had and with whom. They all ate and talked for a while. Draco was happy to have the attention turned away from him (what?! Impossible!), but much to Blaise's content, that wouldn't last too long.

He turned to Goyle, and asked "so, see anyone, Goyle?"

Draco's food hadn't quite reached his throat when Goyle spoke: "Her."

He pointed straight at the bushy haired anomaly wearing Gryffindor robes that had just walked past the hall entrance. His swallowing took a wrong turn, making him cough uncontrollably. His lungs burned with the strain as he gasped for air. He had wanted to speak and had gulped instead.

Instead of the commanding "no," he had wanted to deliver for a response, all that came out was a forceful, scratchy "what?" with a tone that contained more fright and perplexity than command.

Blaise almost squealed like a little girl in delight. Goyle, of course, had picked at random – but Blaise couldn't have picked better himself had he planned for months.

"Yes!" he laughed, reaching over Draco's back, completely ignoring his coughing his lungs out, and patting Goyle on the back instead. 'What friends,' Draco thought, as he gave him a murderous look.

Pansy completely stiffened in her spot. She could find no reason as to why three Slytherin guys should be talking about the ugly little dirt bag Granger, when they could be talking about her instead. She sent daggers at the Gryffindor before giving Draco a look that demanded an explanation. Goyle kept on looking blankly ahead at Hermione, and Nott turned to look at her curiously.

When he had finally gotten some sort of oxygen inside his lungs, Draco spoke, bewildered.

"Are you bloody crazy?!"

But Blaise was already standing up.

"You did agree, mate." He offered with a grin.

"I didn't agree to a damn thing!"

"Oh, but you did," Blaise said, this time with his face more serious, as if trying to make sure he got the message through the blonde's head about who held the right cards.

Draco groaned, and then looked over at Granger, sitting now with St. Potty and the Weasel, too bloody ignorant to notice a thing.

Blaise walked away with Pansy, who was now grilling him for information, and Goyle, whose behavior sometimes made Draco wonder where his loyalties were. He used to be _his_ crony, and now he was always stuck to Blaise, whose bloody grin as he exited the hall made Draco want to launch himself over the table, and throttle him a little.

Merlin, when had he become this angry?

Best of all, he had a meeting with her and the prefects in a bloody hour. His schedule, apparently, made for an hour session every Monday for these meetings right after breakfast.

He was now aware of his bloody doom.

What he wasn't aware of two particular sets of eyes set on him: an interrogatory look from Nott, whose curiosity and meddling would eventually be the end of him, and a particular set of chocolate brown eyes from across the hall.

* * *

A poll: Please leave a comment letting me know, when do you people think that it is most convenient for you as the readers that I post the new chapters? Give me a day of the week, or a specific time, or both – and let me know why! You may do this by either sending a message through my profile, leaving a comment here, or – if through livejournal. The link to it (DisaniLJ), is posted on my profile as well.

Thank you! Please review!


	4. Signing your own Death Sentence

**Ugh, almost two weeks without updating. **I'm sorry, guys! Homework and other things have been swallowing me whole. Now I'll have more time to start posting regularly (or I hope for that, at least).

Due to votes, and me trying to reach a happy middle because of my schedule, new chapters will be up (with luck), on **Sunday Mornings**! Changes might occur, such as skip weeks (like the last one and today), if my work load with school is too heavy. But for the most part, I'll stick to Sundays.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

* * *

The run up and down the halls to Hermione's common room had left her almost without air. She was never late for anything; she was always on time. The only reason Father Time caught her flashing through the castle this time was that she wanted – no, she _needed_ to be early.

It started as a fast walk, then a power walk; by the time she arrived at the foot of Braddock's portrait, she had been almost sprinting. She meet the bard's merry gaze.

"Good morning, Miss Granger!" he exclaimed in a happy manner. "How are you this morning?"

"I'm well, thank you. Now, I must go inside, Mr…er…"

"Just call me Braddock," he said. Hermione nodded, impatient already.

"Well, Braddock, I must get inside. _Pumpkin Pasties."_

"I heard a meeting was taking place today!" he continued, unfazed, his voice thick with an excited English accent as old as the paint on the canvas itself, "It'll be _such_ a pleasure to meet new faces!"

Time kept ticking away, and Hermione kept growing more anxious and exasperated with the old bard.

"Yes, now could you _please_ open?"

_Pumpkin Pasties_, she repeated, and the bard, not able to put it off much longer, dejectedly swung the portrait open.

Hermione went through, triumphant that she was early despite all of Braddock the Bard's attempts at engaging her in conversation for longer than she had wanted to. Throwing her bag on the nearest chair, she looked over and scanned the room where all prefects would meet before class.

Her triumph was short lived.

Draco Malfoy sat in all of his snobby glory on one of the couches by the fireplace at obvious leisure.

Oh, it's _you. _She thought.

Or at least, she _thought_ that she had thought so. Apparently, by the look on Malfoy's face, she had spat it out before she could stop herself.

He looked up with all the patience in the world, an expression on his face as though even the effort of looking at her hurt him physically.

"Who else would it be, Granger?" he asked. The bite in his speech only served the purpose of reinforcing and intensifying Hermione's previous theory.

Giving him a deathly glare for good measure, she then looked down at her wrist watch. It seemed to be the only muggle thing of hers that actually worked in the castle, simply because it wasn't battery operated. She loved it.

The feeling of the tiny gears ticking each second away against her wrist had become her second pulse, an extended organ worn outside her body, much like her own skin. It reminded her of how many things she had to accomplish in a day, and just exactly how much time left she had to get all of it done.

Soon enough, however, before she had time to comment on the time, prefects started filing through the door. A lot of them looked around, making comments. Hermione felt a particular feeling of pride at her position as a few of the younger ones made comments about the place: a lot of them wanting to be seventh year head girl and boy, but most with a particular tone of envy that Hermione couldn't help but quite delight herself in:

She had worked extra hard for the right to be the in living in this place. But what she looked forward to the most was making a lasting impression on the crowd, almost in a motherly figure, about their duties as well as what they could expect if they worked hard enough.

Her daydream soon came crashing as Draco swung his legs so that he took up a whole couch, leaving a few Hufflepuff prefects to stand. Hermione glared at him and was about to open her mouth, but was quickly interrupted by Ginny, who had waltzed in the door and, at the display of tomfoolery coming from the blonde, quickly walked up to him, shoved his legs, and proceeded to open space for the Hufflepuffs.

"Watch it, bint."

"Shove it, Ferret."

"Make me, Weasel--"

Everyone was looking; it was Hermione's turn to speak. Ginny's and Malfoy's little quarrel had given her a few seconds to compose herself, breathe in, and look as amiable and together as possible. She planted on a smile, and then cleared her throat. Draco's and Ginny's argument soon died as everyone chose to ignore them.

"Welcome, everyone," Hermione supplied eagerly. She had always loved the chance to prove that she was capable of leadership. This was finally her chance.

She grabbed her school bag from the chair, and took out a ream of paper. A flick of the wand sent them into an aerial waltz around the room as they separated and planted themselves into the hands of all of the Prefects now sitting around in couches, chairs, and some cross-legged on the floor.

Hermione had spent the better part of the morning after her shower making a list of duties and rules, and magically copying them onto paper in an almost obsessive compulsive manner. Everything was neatly written, color coded, all names were sorted alphabetically, and the list of rounds neatly charted.

With six prefects per house, which Hermione had been one of, and Draco, who got back on board for some ungodly reason Hermione could not possibly think of – there was a total of twenty four people supposed to be in the room. Except, only twenty three sheets of paper were handed out, and Hermione noticed that Ron hadn't actually made it into the room.

He had been made a prefect with Hermione in their fifth year, and all prefects were expected to continue holding their post through their sixth and seventh year in school, which due to the war ending, McGonagall had been most eager to offer for them once more. Sadly, that also meant that Pansy Parkinson, who had been a prefect with Malfoy, was also sitting in the room.

Hermione rolled her eyes. Ron would get an earful later.

She started, once more, while everyone scanned the sheets of paper. Everyone but Malfoy, who was obviously ignoring her, and Parkinson, wrapped around his arm.

"As you can see here, all of your schedules have been organized for rounds. You will be switching partners every two weeks. It is the school's policy that we work together in a most convenient way – and thus getting to know each other is crucial."

Granger sounded so self important that Draco wanted to put a curse through his temples to end it all. He arched an eyebrow lightly, not having bothered to look at the sheet of paper, which he instead had crumpled and thrown into the fire (much to Hermione's chagrin, but seriously – _she had _touched _it_), and decided to jump in. He _was _Head Boy after all, no matter how much he actually planned on being uncooperative.

"I think we all know each other more than we could possibly want to, isn't that right, _Granger_?"

She shot him daggers, Pansy beside him giggled. Granger, however, decided to continue with her charade.

"Now, you will all answer any questions, and resolve any matters, that take place within your own house. If they involve a student from another house, please let one of the Prefects from said house know - working together is better than not!" She smiled brightly, having everyone's eyes on her.

She just liked the attention. Merlin knew she only got so much of it before being stuffed into a damp, mudblood stained corner with her pitiful books. Draco could not think of any other reason as to why she'd be so excited to waste her time with these people, or rather, have them waste their time with her.

He completely ignored everything else she had to say, and was busy staring at the fire. Time seemed to slow down to a crawl while he listened to her annoyingly chirpy voice making background noise, and thoughts of what Blaise had said came creeping back like the monsters under the bed he was so scared of at night when he was a child.

He'd have to _sleep_ with this girl? He couldn't even stand her! He could not – would _not –_ stand for this. That had to be the most ridiculous bet anybody could ever come up with, and he would rather shag Pansy a million times over before even _considering _ever touching Hermione Granger, much less actually get into bed with her.

He considered the idea. If he lied to Blaise, and told Pansy that he would finally fulfill her wish by the end of the year, Pansy would gladly lie to Zabini right away – if only for the prospect of having Draco actually fulfill that promise. The girl would really do anything for him, and lying wasn't something she wasn't accustomed to. At the end of the year…well, he'd deal with that later. The idea was perfect!

"Yes!" he exclaimed, sitting up straight.

He gained a lot of surprised looks, and a gasp from Pansy, who had obviously been paying more attention than he had. Her surprise soon turned to a pout, mixed with anger. Everyone else was staring at him wide eyed, but no more wide eyed than the mudblood, who seemed torn between surprise and despair.

"What?" he asked tartly at the room in general.

Hermione took this as his way of asking people to mind their own business, as he usually did, and went on.

"Well, that's settled then. Thanks, everybody. See you next week!"

Everyone stood up and started leaving. Draco was left confused. Pansy still looked pissed off.

He pulled her back to the couch as Hermione made her way out of the common room and towards her own bedroom, and looked at her. Pansy returned his gaze with a blank expression and disappointment.

"What was it?"

"You just agreed to fill in during patrol for one of the prefects this whole week. I can't believe you'd like to actually spend more time than needed with that…that… _Skank_!"

Draco gaped. What was Pansy going on about?

She stood up and started to leave.

"Wait, what skank?!"

"The one you live with, you idiot!" with that, she walked out of the common room, slamming the door behind her in a jealousy tantrum.

Draco sat there. He could already hear Blaise's cackle ringing in his ears, even though the common room was eerily quiet. No wonder everyone had looked at him with expressions resembling that of dying fish.

"Fuck!!" he screamed, once it had all set in. He'd willingly signed up for his own doom, all because he had been too stupid not to actually pay attention.

* * *

Hermione shut the door to her bedroom. She had walked away faster than she had wanted to, if only so that she had time to collect herself before classes started.

The very first week of rounds would be done by Hermione and a fifth year. And it already looked like it'd be a bloody awful week:

"_This week Collins and I will be doing rounds, then it'll be McNewt and W—"_

_Somebody spoke, cutting her short. Hermione looked up. It was Jesse Collins, the fifth year Ravenclaw who was appointed to do rounds with her that week._

"_Uhm, Hermione? Is it ok if I switch schedules with someone else for this week? Quidditch tryouts will be held and I kind of want to try out. That means I'll have to practice after hours," he said in an apologetic tone. _

_Hermione wasn't fond of Quidditch. She wasn't fond of anybody who neglected their duties because of the silly sport, but Jesse's face looked so excited at the idea, and so apologetic at having to switch, that Hermione thought it'd be OK for once. She nodded then looked around the room._

"_Well, since Jesse cannot do rounds, and I obviously cannot do them alone, if somebody volunteers, Jesse will take over your first week of rounds. Would anybody like to step up to the plate?"_

_She looked around, and before anybody could so much as blink, Draco Malfoy sat up and shouted "Yes!"_

_Everyone stared hard. Hermione knew that there was nobody else staring harder than she had been._

"_What?" he spat. And that was that._

She blinked as she set her head against window to look out onto the grounds, sunlight streaming through the glass right onto her face.

That had been the weirdest thing to happen to her in a while. The last person on earth she had expected to volunteer was Draco bloody ferret Malfoy. But everyone else seemed to be glad to not have to do rounds, and so she was stuck with him.

With a resigned sigh, she went onto her trunk and packed the books she needed into her bag and walked out. On her way down, she heard him scream and cringed. Yes, this week would be lovely. She had not stepped properly onto the common room carpet when Malfoy rounded in on her like an angry beast.

"Look here, mudblood," he said, pointing a finger at her threateningly. Hermione reached for her wand.

"I am NOT doing rounds with you!"

Oh. That's what it was.

Wait, then why did he agree? Why bother if he was going to turn it down to begin with? Oh, she wouldn't let him get away with it! The gall, he probably wanted her to do rounds alone, just so he could get away scot free with not doing rounds for not only a week, but _two_!

"Shove it, Malfoy. As much as it pains me, you agreed."

Hermione started walking towards the portrait, wanting to get out as fast as possible.

"But I did _not_ agree!"

"And I'm Merlin's daughter. We all heard you, there are witnesses. You agreed."

And with that, she walked out the door, leaving him to boil in his own juices. Perhaps it was a good thing Ron had not been in that meeting. A fight was sure to take place.

It wasn't that she did not love Ron and all, but he was so forgetful and quick to anger sometimes that it truly infuriated her. The last thing she needed that day was for him to start up a brawl in the middle of their common room and leave the mess for her to fix. Not to mention Ron couldn't quite handle the empty hallways that well. He'd be scared of spiders coming out from the crevices in the corners. She'd much rather put up with Malfoy's snotty attitude for a few hours than a scared Ron. At least she knew how to keep _Malfoy_ in check.

Wait; did she just consciously agree she'd rather spend time with an obnoxious ass over her own boyfriend?

Shudder.

The realization hit her for a second, but she was already standing at the door of her Transfigurations class. Before she could mull over too much, she was ushered in along with the other students. Harry came up to her. Ron should have already been there, but Hermione found his space empty.

"Harry, where's Ron?"

Harry looked at her and blinked, "what? Ginny didn't tell you?"

She shook her head. Ginny didn't tell her what? Did something happen to him? Was he ok?!

"Neville missed the step in the stairs to our rooms, _again_, and fell back. Ron was right behind him. He landed on Ron, who landed on his leg, and broke his knee."

Hermione looked alarmed, all previous worries and anger towards Ron for missing the meeting forgotten. Harry said this as though they were simply talking about the weather. The boy had been prone to so many injuries that he could take anything by now.

"Is he ok?!" she asked in an anxious rush, eyeing towards their new Transfigurations teacher, a blonde, stout little man who was pacing around his desk, busy with his paperwork.

"He'll be spending the night with Madam Pomfrey, but that's it. He's _OK, _Hermione!" he reassured her. Yet, that wasn't going to ease her worry any less.

She couldn't believe that Ginny had not said a thing! Yet, perhaps Ginny didn't even know yet.

The rest of the day went pretty uneventfully. She raised her hand dutifully at all of the questions she knew the answers to, and made sure to copy down every upcoming assignment to the most insignificant detail. Starting brand new parchment and keeping it organized was always a thrill of the beginning school year for her.

She soon stuffed all of her things into her bag, at the end of the day, and decided it was about time she paid her boyfriend a visit in the emergency wing. She needed to spend her time constructively. Anything to forget what she wasn't looking forward to that night – rounds with Draco Malfoy.

* * *

Ok, so this is shorter than what I seem to write. But apparently my friend told me I write too much! Haha.

Anyway, it's shorter because school's killing me.

I've been planning, writing, and re-writing this as much as possible. It's more packed with information than previous chapters *HINTHINT* so that should make up for length. Hopefully the next one will give you more than a cliffhanger!

Also, you guys are amazing. Thank you _so _much for all of the lovely comments to the previous chapter, and I hope you have enjoyed this one as much!


	5. Blessed Time Alone

**Author's note:** I am SO sorry it's taken me like a year to get back to this. Did you know senior year of college is evil? No? well, now you know. Also, thanks to those who left comments, and I'd like to remind you that this is all fluff and no substance (so far), so just enjoy it for what it is.

On with the story!

* * *

By the time Hermione made it all the way to the Hospital wing, she had already run through about two hundred different scenarios of how rounds with Malfoy would go that night. They all seemed to end in disaster.

Why had he agreed if he didn't want to go on rounds with her, to begin with? Not that she thought he'd ever agree to something willingly. Merlin could only fathom what had bit him that he had agreed with so much enthusiasm. Perhaps he wasn't paying as much attention and thought he'd be going with some hottie he could harass, only to find out that it had been her all along?

She would rather not think of it. Ron was what was important right now, anyway. Opening the door to Madam Pomfrey's infirmary, she saw Ron slumped over in a bed with such a sad face on that she nearly ran to hug him. It wasn't his fault that his knee was broken. Every so often the sad face turned into a cringe of pain. Skele-gro's nasty side effect was the pain factor that came with it. Poor Ron would have to deal with it for several hours yet.

"How are you feeling?" she asked in a soothing voice, sitting on the edge of the bed and trying her best not to move him too much.

"Like I flew my broomstick into a wall of bricks at four hundred miles an hour," he replied, between a wince and a small whimper. "It could be worse, though."

The Ron she knew complained about the smallest of scrapes to his hand, but he hated having people see him be weak, and so he only winced and cringed when she knew him to be in much more pain than a small scrape now, with a busted knee. She almost rolled her eyes.

"Hopefully you'll be able to rest it off, though."

"No I'll be fine soon, I promise." He said, his jaw setting stubbornly. "I just need to stretch it well once it heals."

"Ugh, don't be silly, Ron. You'll be limping for a week no matter what you say – no way you'll be able to just run to class when you're late now," she rolled her eyes, but smiled. Somehow, she could not be angry right now. Perhaps because being in his company was so much better than…well, the other option.

"Which reminds me, I need to give you a run-down of the prefects meeting!"

At that, Ron's eyes widened slightly and he cursed in such a manner that Mrs. Weasley would have been boxing his ears for lacking manners. Well, Hermione was pleased to see that he at least did not just dismiss his duties entirely, busted knee or not.

"I totally forgot about that! I'm so sorry, Mione!"

Hermione shook her head.

"Well, I'll just need to find somebody else to fill your shift tomorrow afternoon." Ron frowned. She could only imagine that he no doubt did not like the idea of having had to do rounds the first day of school. The look he gave her made her think that he was torn between sighing in relief and making sure he did not tick her off.

With a shake of her head, she took a chair instead of sitting on his bed and started to fill in him on the rest of the she got to the part where Draco Malfoy agreed to fill in for Jesse Collins, her voice had become nearly a whisper and she was smoothing her robes so vigorously Ron complained it was making him anxious just looking at it.

"What do you mean, somebody else is filling in for Jesse? Come on, 'Mione, it couldn't be that bad, now could it?"

Oh, how little he knew…

"Actually," she started, but just as she was about to say who the one replacing Collins was, Madam Pomfrey came in hustling and bustling.

"It's past visiting hours, young lady." She said, shepherding Hermione to get out of the room. "You can see your friend tomorrow."

"But I'm- " she couldn't get the words out. Pomfrey kept on talking over her and all she could do now was wave at Ron from over Pomfrey's shoulder, with just enough time to gather her belongings. She had had no time to finish her tale.

Well, at least she wouldn't have to worry about Ron's temper tantrum… not yet, anyway. Looking at her watch, she sighed. Dinner would be getting served soon, and then she'd have enough time to change and do some homework before Patrol hours started; with Malfoy.

Fantastic.

Dinner was slow. Harry and Ginny were at it again, and with Ron in the hospital wing, Neville burying his face into his cup of cider for god knew what reason, and Luna nowhere to be seen (not even at her own table), it felt amazingly lonely. Hermione picked at her food, rearranging her mashed potatoes on her plate into random shapes.

The chatter in the room only registered as a random buzz in her ears. She refused to look ahead, 'lest she ends up staring at Malfoy. Why were these table arrangements so uncomfortable? She really should start sitting on the other side of the table, even if it meant staring at the wall instead.

Her visit to Ron, however brief it had been, had served its purpose. It had distracted her for a little. But here there was no Ron, and so she was back to thinking about the one person who somehow managed to wedge himself into her mind like a pesky splinter in her finger that she couldn't remove.

The food on her plate had gone cold and her mashed potatoes were starting to get tough to move around.

"What's that, Hermione?" somebody asked.

Looking up, she found Luna, who had appeared out of nowhere, looking over her shoulder. The hairs on the back of her neck wanted to stand up. Luna was startlingly odd at best on any given day, but having her breathing down Hermione's neck was a totally different story. Years of friendship had not weathered over Luna's odd demeanor… if anything, it only made Hermione more aware of how absolutely clueless her friend was to the concept of a personal bubble.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, looking around. Had she said anything out loud?

"That," exclaimed luna, pointing straight into Hermione's plate. Hermione followed the finger and blinked. By her fork there was a perfectly shaped line, waving in and out. Long and thin, shaped as if twisting and writhing on the surface, it looked…well, like a snake. She bit her lip in frustration. A snake!

"I don't know, Luna. I was rather…absentminded." She smiled apologetically.

Why had she made a snake?

Her eyes narrowed and she finally lifted her head, not paying much attention to Luna's tale about some sort of creature, much like a snake, that did such and such. With Luna, there was always some sort of creature nobody had ever heard of, or seen.

Draco Malfoy was sitting with his group of cronies and Pansy Parkinson coiled around him. He looked uncomfortable, trying his best to edge away from her. For whatever reason, Hermione smirked. Anything that brought that brat some discomfort was well worth being satisfied over.

Luna was still talking.

"I'm sorry, Luna, but I have to go," Hermione said to her friend, pushing her plate of food away and getting up from the seat. Just as she did so, the trays changed to dessert and she grabbed an apple from a basket. Whatever worries she might have, she needed to eat something. Luna shook it off and said it was perfectly ok, then wandered away over to her table without even a glance at Harry and Ginny. Not that Harry and Ginny noticed. They were so busy staring at each other lovingly that the world could have never existed around them, if it was up to the pair. Hermione mentally shook her head, wanting to gag. How so much love was possible in a single couple was beyond her.

She made her way out of the great hall, and was almost about to turn for the Gryffindor tower when she remembered that was not her home anymore. Somehow, that made her feel just that much worse. She'd end up running into the ferret sooner or later, true, but she'd rather it was later. The fact that the only person she shared her lonely tower with _was_ Draco Malfoy made it all that much more depressing. She was stuck in a tower for a whole year with a dragon (the thought nearly made her laugh), and her knight in shining armor was upstairs with a broken knee. How ironic.

Hermione sighed and made it all the way to her room. The halls were quiet enough she could hear her shoes lightly tapping on the hard stone floor. Braddock the Bard sat slouching in his frame, snoring lightly. Few came this way, and the poor old portrait had nothing to entertain him except his own old stories, which he had repeated to himself so many times over the centuries that now it was either take a trip down memory lane, or sleep. Sleep seemed the better option, and Hermione thought so, too. Oh, how she longed for her bed.

"Braddock," she called out. The bard jerked upright.

"Oh, hello there Miss Granger. How are you this lovely evening?"

"Could be better."

He let her in this time without a delay, unlike before. She was thankful for that. Now she had the common room alone to herself for a blessed good while. No noise, no Luna looking over her shoulder, and no Draco bloody Malfoy. Somehow, as the minutes ticked, she felt more and more uncomfortable.

Hermione started for the bathroom to relieve herself and wash before changing. She washed her hands and face, then stripped down and grabbed for a towel hanging on a rack, leaving her garments carelessly on a chair in the corner. She made her way to the 'loo stall. Ah, being alone was great.

* * *

Lord, but Pansy was annoying. It took him forever to finally untangle himself from her clutches and excuse himself while Nott and Zabini wore smirks hidden behind their goblets of pumpkin juice. The bastards. They wouldn't stop him, of course. Pansy narrowed her eyes and glared at his retreating back so hard that he could almost feel them on the back of his neck. But at least she hadn't followed. Small mercy, that.

She had been clingy for as long as Draco had known her, but today the blasted girl had glued herself to his hip so much that he had had no peace and quiet to himself, barely enjoyed his dinner, and had been the silent laughing stock of Blaise and Theo, who found it all amazingly amusing – Zabini found it most amusing out of the two of them, really. Theo had no idea about the…bargain…he guessed he should call it, that Zabini had nearly forced down Draco's throat. If a long friendship was any indication of how well he knew them, though, either Theodore Nott would find out soon enough, or Blaise would flap his tongue so fast Theo would have a hard time keeping up.

How this was amusing to them was beyond him, though. But then again, they had been nice enough to make sure Pansy didn't eat him alive in front of everybody… in a very literal way. The blasted woman's hands had been everywhere – _everywhere! _– anytime she was near him. He had had to shove her once or twice to keep her hands from undoing his trousers.

Draco shook his head. What had become of him? When had he fallen out of power or influence? This was ridiculous.

He started making his way towards the Head Boy and Girl's tower, with any luck the hairball that was Hermione Granger would not be there, he'd have blessed time alone. No annoying mudblood, no annoying Pansy Parkinson, no Blaise Zabini, and no Theo poking his nose in other people's business.

_Wait, did I just think as the mudblood as my _business_? Merlin, Help Me!_

After that, he basically stomped his way all the way to Braddock the Bard, who saw him in a mood and let him in without even asking for a password.

That was interesting…most of the time the old fool would just talk his ears off. Perhaps he should be in a mood more often.

Draco looked around and sighed in relief. No one. Silence, glorious silence. Taking his hand to his tie, he undid it and let it fall, making his way to his jacket, then his shirt, leaving a trail all the way to the bathroom. By the time he had made it inside, all he could see moving was the siren in the stained glass, looking at him while mindlessly brushing her glass blonde hair.

He undid his trousers and smallclothes and let them fall, then made his way to the 'loo stall on the other side of the massive room. He'd relieve himself and shower before going on rounds with that blasted, filthy girl.

He pushed the door open and screamed. Or maybe it had been the person sitting in the loo, staring at him with wild eyes who screamed.

Hermione Granger was sitting without a stitch on her body. He was so perplexed he forgot to be disgusted. They stared at each other for what must have felt like ages, and he started humming silently. Granger didn't look quite bad, really. Perky breasts she kept on trying to cover up, failing miserably. He would not look below her waist, though. No Sir.

"GET OUT!" She screamed, trying her best to look him in the face and _not _look him in the face at the same time.

With a belated grunt, he realized he was standing just as naked as she, hand on the stall's door, the other one limply hanging at his side.

He went red as a tomato, but she slammed the door in his face. He stood there like an idiot. He would not let her have the best of it.

"What the FUCK, Granger?"

Draco pounded on the stall's door, and all shame go to hell. Plus, he was quite handsome. Any girl would give an eye if she could be sure she'd get to see him naked with the other one. He kept on telling himself there was nothing to be ashamed of, not really. Embarrassment at being caught off guard was totally still there, though.

"GET OUT YOU DISGUSTING, LECHEROUS PEEPING TOM!"

Peeping-Tom? _Him?_ He had done nothing but come into the bathroom to do his thing! _Lecherous? _As if.

"Oh don't flatter yourself, sweetheart. You're not that attractive. Couldn't you have made a noise to let me know you were here?"

He walked over to the giant pool-like bathtub and made himself at home. If he was going to have to put up with her bullshit, he'd give her a taste of her own medicine. He called from his spot, where he sat decently covered by the bath bubbles and white foam. Granger would still be inside that stall, butt naked, and would have to come out at some point. He had the upper hand.

He smirked, the awkwardness of this situation made him laugh. He could have been a gentleman and walked out, but why would he ever do that for such a bitch?

"I don't know about you, but this bath is quite comfortable, I'd say." He taunted.

This could be interesting.

* * *

Author's note: Thank you so much for reading! And to those who have, please do let me know what you think so far. Your encouragement keeps me writing. ;)

Also, sorry for such a belated chapter! I promise, though. I'm back in full force.


	6. Thick as a Lion's Mane

**Author's note**: thank you all for the comments, and for welcoming me back with open arms! Also thanks to those who pointed out the mistakes I made (Pansy _Patil_? Seriously? I don't know what I was thinking when I wrote that! But never fear, it has been fixed). As always, it is truly a pleasure to get to hear from you guys.

* * *

"I don't know about you, but this bath is quite comfortable, I'd say." She heard Malfoy gloat, and she punched the bathroom stall so hard it rattled. Malfoy laughed.

Biting her lower lip as hard as she could to keep from screaming and losing whatever little dignity she had left – which wasn't much, mind you – Hermione tried to think of as many ways out of this one as possible. She had grabbed a towel before going to the toilet, but had clumsily left it by the sink. Now she stood inside that stall which was all she had for protection, without a stitch on her body.

She could have died. She could have shoveled a hole in the ground if she could and let the earth swallow her. She was so embarrassed at the moment that she forgot to be _completely_ angry – but that didn't last long. Pacing in a circle in her stall, all of which took a total of four steps in any direction, she grabbed at her hair compulsively and tugged it. She had also left her wand by her clothes. If she had known!

But of course she had not known. She thought she had had the bathroom all to herself! She tasted something salty and stopped. Her lower lip was swollen – or at least, it felt swollen - and she was pretty sure she had bit down on her lip so hard it was bleeding. Tears threatened to start forming.

This was ridiculous! Of all things, this had to happen to her. Draco Malfoy, the bane of her and her friends' existence, sat in the same bathroom as her quite comfortably in the bathtub where _she_ should have been, ALONE! Even though it was the prefects bathroom… which made her think. Why, oh why, was nobody coming into the bathroom? Why was she stuck here? It's like the gods decided to punish her for something.

That he had ridiculed her in the past, she could deal with. All of the names he called her, all the times he had threatened her. She had swallowed bitterly and held her head high when he said those things to her. She had controlled herself when she learned she had to share her living space with him – well, for the most part. But through all of this, she had always come out the adult. Right? What did she do to deserve any of this?

Oh, that's right. She had threatened _him_ before…and now he was making her pay. Merlin, but he was such a…such a…a _dick! _How could he do this to her? This was surpassing even the worst of anything he had ever done to her. Nevermind that he had been just as stark naked as she when he opened that door. But, unlike her, he had felt no remorse! The swine! The narcissistic _swine_! He probably thought he was too good looking for her eyes, and that he had been doing her a favor, or else he would have tried to have some decency and cover himself!

"UGH!"

"What was that, Granger?" malfoy's annoying voice floated through to her and she stopped her pacing again.

Every so often, she could hear a snickering that was most definitely _not_ coming from the siren in her stained glass landscape. He was thoroughly enjoying himself!

She screamed.

* * *

Draco lounged back and toyed with the soapy foam all around him. He knew in his gut that this was amazingly wrong. He should be in his room right now, fully clothed, and as far away from that vermin Hermione Granger, one that was just as naked as he was!

This was wrong. But he'd enjoy every second of it.

Leaning his head back, he watched her pace inside her little cubicle of a bathroom stall, and smirked. How long until she felt claustrophobic? Her steps became more frantic, and for a then stopped for a second. He frowned.

Then the pacing started again. Watching her or, rather, her ankles, (which were, surprisingly, very slim and pretty. But he would not think about that! Oh no! No. Never about pretty ankles on the mudblood) – watching her got him thinking about that idiotic bargain, which wasn't really a bargain because he got _forced_ into it. What could he call it?

As he was contemplating the many nasty names he could call his situation, he heard Granger give a loud grunt of exasperation and his ears perked up. His eyes went immediately to her ankles – the only part of her he could see – and arched an eyebrow.

"What was that, Granger?"

As much as he was enjoying making her suffer, somehow he could not avoid thinking about how amazingly awkward this whole thing was. Blaise would be proud.

And Granger screamed.

"You're such a dick!" Granger spat out in his direction… or, at least, he assumed it was in his direction. Her feet were positioned so that if the stall wasn't there, she'd be looking right at him.

"Glad to get that off your chest there, mudblood?"

He drummed his fingers on the marble floor where he rested his arms. They both had to get out of there sooner or later, considering they only had just so much time to get to rounds. But he'd be bloody damned if he'd get out of the prefects bathroom just for her.

The pacing started again. He grinned.

He heard some huffing and puffing for a few seconds, and could see her now counting to ten and from ten, and his smirk grew.

The whole thing was comical. Here sat Draco Malfoy and his arch enemy's best friend, which made her by default a hated human being even had she never been a mudblood, both of them naked as the day they were born. His smirk turned into a malicious grin that split his face when he imagined what bloody Saint Potter and his ugly little carrot-top of a friend would say when they learned of THIS! Oh, but he'd have more fun then than now. Somehow, the prospect of infuriating the boys of the golden trio and shaming the girl to death made the whole idea of being in school that much more appealing. It reminded him of good old times. Somehow, he found himself thinking on this in a twisted, sick fascination: it was like good memories of childhood, with a few broken bones and noses for good measure.

His smirk faltered for a second as he saw her feet disappear and suddenly her head appeared over the top of the bathroom stall. Her hair was in disarray - not that it was much different from her every day wild bush-like mess – her cheeks were red and splotchy, and the look she directed him was so filled with hate, anger, and anguish that he nearly looked away. He plastered his smile back on.

"Let me out." She ordered.

He blinked.

"Nothing's holding you in there, mudblood." _Except the fact that you're naked, that is_.

"Malfoy, this isn't funny, you pig. And Wipe that smile off your face!"

"Oh? But I find it hilarious. QUITE hilarious – in fact, this is the sort of story to be told to grandchildren." He put a finger to his lips, as if thinking, trying to see her reaction, then grinned so maliciously that Hermione's eyebrows rose up slowly.

"In fact," he continued, "Why wait until I have grandchildren? The pure type of witches and wizards, unlike you, you filthy little rat…" Hermione's chin rose up a little. She had that stubborn, angry gaze coming into her eyes again, but her eyes were red. He would push as many buttons as he could now. "Why not tell them to Saint Potter and the Weasel? I'm sure they'd _love_ to hear all of the dirty little details."

Granger's eyes widened slowly, and her cheeks went redder, if that was even possible. She then disappeared back into the stall.

He wouldn't dare do such a thing, would he?

Hermione sniffled.

Once.

Twice.

Her eyes burned.

"Malfoy, please," she begged, near tears. All that was keeping those tears from spilling over was the fact that inside she was boiling with anger. She had been reduced to begging! And he knew it well. She hid inside the stall, sitting down on the seat. This was better than having him see her plead _and_ cry.

She heard a laugh, then, miraculously, something landed on her head. It was soft, and fluffy, and white. A towel! She sighed, and could have come out of that stall and kissed him in gratitude, if it wasn't for the fact that she hated him, for one, and he was the reason she had been in this mighty stew of a situation for another. Before she could say another word, she heard him speak.

"Don't even thank me, Granger. I just could never stand to take a look at your ugly, unappealing body a second time," Draco bit the words out.

And the tears spilled out this time.

Still sitting in the stall, she cried silently until she felt like her eyes could hold onto no more tears. It was too much. She had once liked to think of herself as a strong girl, with a strong will and an outer skin as thick as a lion's mane. That's what Gryffindors were made of. That was a total lie she realized now. It took Draco bloody Malfoy to show her just how vulnerable she was, how vulnerable her emotions were , how easily crushed. How could anybody be so cruel?

By the time she was done crying, her eyes stung. They felt puffy, and Hermione had no doubt if she looked in the mirror she'd look a total mess. His last words had hit a bit too close to home. It wasn't that she was always insecure, but the only person who had ever shown any sort of real interest in her in anything other than a platonic way had been Victor Krum. And yes, she was dating Ron, but Ron wouldn't know the end of a hint if you slapped him with it.

She had repeatedly tried to get…closer, with Ron. Somehow, he always managed to either avoid her, or change the topic. It felt like one of those awkward moments when people would point towards the weather and how it was that day in order to avoid something immensely important. She had not known what to think of it. Sometimes, she'd let it go. Perhaps he wasn't in the mood, right?

But she had noticed him looking at Ginny and Harry not with the distaste of a brother seeing his best friend shoving his tongue down his sister's throat, but with…longing. Or, at least, that's what Hermione thought. It had made her think that perhaps he had wanted that of her, too. And she had been willing to go the whole way with him. At that thought, her cheeks burned.

_So sue me. I'm human, too. I have needs._

She had thought of it often enough, and shame be damned. Lord knows she had loved Ron for so long… But every time she tried, he dejected her. Hermione toyed with the edges of her towel, wrapped over her legs. How pathetic must it look? She was there sitting naked on the toilet, crying her eyes out, with a towel over her lap. She was glad nobody was around.

What hurt the most was, she had tried to get Ron's attention so often, and yet he never wanted anything to do with her that way. He had even brought up homework once to put her off. _Homework!_ Not a single bone in Ron's body spoke of eagerness to do school work.

And now, the first boy to ever see her so vulnerably had not only laughed in her face, but accused her of the same things that had crossed her mind once or twice. Perhaps Ron did not want anything because he didn't find her attractive.

"_I just could never stand to take a look at your ugly, unappealing body a second time."_

Was that it? Ron thought her too disgusting to do anything with? The thought made her want to start crying all over again. A bite to her lower lip, though, reminded her exactly where she was. So taking a deep breath, Hermione sucked in her feelings, wrapped her towel around herself and stepped out.

The bathroom was empty.

She didn't know what surprised her the most, the fact that Draco Malfoy had not stuck around to make fun of her and gloat about making her cry, or the fact that she had expected him to stay.

Making a quick run for the large sink, she washed her face and her hands, and decided that the shower would have to wait until after rounds. Oh, how she looked forward to that. NOT.

She changed back into her clothes as quickly as possible – might as well do her rounds in her uniform – then headed for her room. A quick brush of her hair, now so disheveled she had to put it up into a ponytail, and a quick once over in her room's full length mirror told her she looked like utter shit. Well…there would be nothing she could do about that now, no matter how many spells. Plus, somehow, it reflected her mood. And if Malfoy had anything to say about it, he could shove it so far his…With a sigh, she grabbed her wand and walked down the stairs.

Malfoy was sitting quite as his leisure in the small common room that was meant to be shared just by the Head Boy and the Head Girl. He had a book open in his hand, apparently very interested in reading about the history of Quidditch, his feet propped up on the couch and one arm dangling over the back.

She could have strangled him. Instead, she braced herself for the worst, a tight fisted grip on her wand, and coughed.

He looked up almost lazily, strands of platinum blonde hair falling into his face. His grey eyes were so hard they could have chipped stone. He gave her a silent once over, as if she was a sheep meant for market, to be weighed and measured, and cut into pieces. A shiver ran down her spine.

"Nice, Granger. You look as horrible as ever."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. Wasn't it enough that he had already seen her in all of her shame in the bathroom? Did he absolutely _have_ to keep on cutting deeper? Then again, this was Malfoy. The idea of strangling him was looking more and more appealing. Killing him with magic would be too easy. She'd rather have the satisfaction of doing it with her own hands.

Her lips narrowed into a thin line.

"Sod off, Malfoy." Hermione spat, rolling her eyes and walking past him and out of the Tower. If she did not get the satisfaction of killing him, at least she'd have the satisfaction of making him follow after her. She was the leader now, not the follower.

"Why? Did I hurt your feelings?" he asked in mock concern. "I'm sorry, Granger, but every word I said was true."

He crossed his heart as if making a promise. Hermione was sure he was just trying to infuriate her. He definitely had managed that, but she wasn't about to let him see it.

And so they did their rounds that night with a tight lipped Hermione stomping her way through halls, scaring even Peeves away, who had poked his ugly little head around the corner at the sound of footsteps. Malfoy followed behind at his own pace, hands in his pockets, walking with such a swagger one would think he was the king of a parade passing through town.

_Modeling for the walls, I suppose,_ Hermione thought bitterly. He certainly had had no shame about showing everything God gave him and more in the bathroom.

Somehow, she had worried so much about rounds that night being horrible, yet it had been much, much better. Compared to the toilet incident, a quiet set of rounds with her enemy was as close as she could imagine heaven being like at the moment.

Instead, she spend the night worrying about Ron and the current state of their relationship. Why _did_ he always beat around the bush whenever she tried…you know… with him?

She ignored Peeves, who had shown up again to throw the butts of candle sticks at them. She ignored Malfoy, not that he said much (for once); she even ignored Braddock the Bard, who gave her such a concerned look and fuzzed over her like a father for nearly 10 minutes, totally ignoring Malfoy when he tried to give the password. When she made it into her room, all thoughts of a bath had completely been forgotten.

She crashed in her bed, and cried, her self esteem battered and bruised.

The next few days went by in a blur. She ignored Harry and Ginny, ignored Luna, ignored her teachers, did not _once_ raise her hand to answer questions that whole rest of the week; she barely ate, her notes had taken on the look of disaster – and sadly, all she had eyes for, or…rather, stolen glances at, was Ron. She kept on looking at him, and caught him giving Harry and Ginny the same look.

Every time, she frowned, and nibbled on her lip, only managing to open up that annoying cut again. By week's end, she had been stewing in her own juices so much that she was ready to explode.

* * *

Alrighty guys! Thank you and I hope you enjoy this one! Do let me know what you think.

Malfoy's a total ass… that's all I have to say. We can only hope Hermione grows a backbone soon and puts him in his place ;) ah, revenge…such a sweet dish, best served cold.


	7. A Bit of Civility

**Author's note**: thanks to all who have taken the time to comment, and those who have put me on their alerts and even favorites lists! It's really quite uplifting to see that people are interested in this story. My last final exam is in two days, and guess what I'm doing – yep, definitely not studying.

Also, I would like to warn that from now on content in this story/chapter might turn a bit uhm...Heavy, perhaps also a tad emotional; readers beware.

On with the story!

* * *

Draco woke up with a gasp, tossing his sheets off. His eyes stared ahead in the darkness, barely registering his surroundings. Where am I? he wondered, yet it didn't take long for recognition to rush back. The moonlight coming through the window was dim and his room was freezing, yet he felt as though he was burning. His fingers dug into the covers underneath him, his breath materializing into mist in front of him then disappearing.

The fire had gone out sometime in the night. Usually the elves kept it going, but it was not quite winter cold yet to keep it going all night long. He would eventually put a warming charm on this room, he thought in an offhanded moment - but when he finally felt like he was back in his body, he was glad there was none. Burning, indeed.

That nightmare. It always came back. No matter how much he tried to keep control things when he was awake, he seemed to always helplessly go through this almost every night. He mentally cringed and tried not to relive it; dreams were something he had no control over, after all.

With a sigh, he fell back onto his pillows and stared at the high, empty ceiling. It always came back.

His father's face danced in his mind, then came back into focus. Why did he do this to himself, reliving it every time? Azkaban, his father in Azkaban. _Why?_ A face totally empty of feeling or expression. Not a flicker of emotion, not a single bat of an eyelash - in his dreams, Lucius Malfoy sat as quiet and unmovable as a stone. A heart beat in there somewhere, but only just, and as for the rest – it was only a shell; the dementors had made sure of that. Draco closed his eyes, what came next terrified him.

Why did he persist on punishing himself with this, when it was all a dream – when he knew deep inside that it wasn't his fate? He tried to skip over it, yet that bit of the dream - no, the nightmare – that bit of the nightmare was always the most vivid: becoming aware of the fact that he was not looking at his father, but at a mirror image of himself. As if his face has simply changed, or his father's face changed. He could not tell which, but it all ended in the inevitable realization that those empty staring eyes were not his father's, but his. Nothing there, just a shell.

These dreams happened far too often for comfort. But he wasn't an empty shell, and he wasn't in Azkaban. He was in his rooms in Hogwarts, and he had been spared that future. As he watched his misty breath, he reconsidered that warming spell. He wasn't burning any longer.

With a sigh, he tossed the rest of the sheets off of him and got up, to stare out the window. While he had sat there, staring at nothing, the sun started going up. It was now the wee hours of the morning, with no sunshine but enough light. He grabbed a robe and tossed it on, then went down with the intention of getting something to eat.

Breakfast wasn't yet for another hour, but the house-elves were always hard at work cooking way before anybody in the castle woke, and if you did not get in their way as they bustled around, he could get something freshly baked before anybody did.

As he made his way down the stairs, he heard something fall with a small thud. He frowned and walked a little faster. His eyebrows climbed up when he got to the small common room.

Hermione Granger was on a small uncomfortable couch in front of the fireplace, and _her_ fire hadn't gone out. He narrowed his eyes. By her hand, he noticed what had made the noise. A book. He wrinkled his nose.

Who the hell would give up a comfortable bed just so they could sleep on a cramped couch? He walked over and prodded the book a little with his toes. The title read _Nicola and the Viscount_. It had a cheesy looking couple walking together, her with her hand in the crook of his bent arm, wearing some odd fashion. He nearly snorted, but instead wrinkled his nose in disgust again. Muggle books - and by the look of it – a cheesy romance novel.

Well, at least she'd get up with a crick in her neck, and he'd enjoy seeing her discomfort. The grumbling of his stomach made any thought of the mudblood slip out of his head, along with his nightmares. So he walked out of the room and headed for the kitchens. There was bound to be _some_ type of food, anyway. A fleeting thought made him aware of the fact that he had been careful not to wake her as he watched her sleep, and was troubled by a second, but it was fleeting. His stomach grumbled once more.

* * *

A yawn was the first thing to come out of Hermione's mouth. She felt groggy and hadn't slept well at all. The room was warm, a comfortable fire blazing in the fireplace. She smiled. She knew most of the elves, and they liked her well enough. From somewhere, they had actually learned how to roll their eyes, and did so now every time she suggested freedom. Some were annoyed by the suggestion, but otherwise they were friendly enough to keep her fire going overnight.

Hermione made a mental note to figure out who to thank later. Looking around, she noticed her book on the floor and winced as she felt the crick in her neck.

That was fantastic, just wonderful. She tried to tilt her head so she could look sideways and cringed. Trying her best not to hurt her neck, she had to twist her whole body just so she could look around the room. Perhaps it'd be a good time to go change and pay Madam Pomfrey a visit before class started. Yes, it wasn't a grave injury, but at least some form of pain reducing potion would work.

Hermione picked up her book and slowly made her way up to her room. The bed was made, the fireplace unlit. Crookshanks was curled up on her pillow, purring happily in his sleep. She had been neglecting him lately, but he was a cat – he could fend for himself. Feeling guilty, she went over to him and lightly caressed him behind the ears. The purring intensified and he cracked open an eye lazily to look at her, before closing it and going back to sleep.

Stripping down to just her knickers, she stared at herself in the mirror. Last night, she had spent all of her time thinking about Ron. She pressed her lips together until they became a thin line. What was she going to do about him, anyway?

"No time to worry about him now, Hermione," she told herself, continuing her inspection.

Turning sideways and lifting her arms, she poked at her forearm. They weren't toned, but they weren't too bad. She sucked in her stomach a little to see what it'd look like.

She always had laughed at those stupid little girls (although, granted, they had never been little – they had all been older than her at the time). Back then, she had more things to worry about than being a normal girl, such as, say, saving the world from the evil that was Voldemort. Who had time to worry about her appearance when there was impending doom knocking on your front door?

But that doom was gone, and to her chagrin, her biggest problem right now was trying to figure out whether Ron found her unappealing. She rolled her eyes and walked away from the mirror. _I'm being ridiculous._

Whatever she told herself though, that day Hermione pulled out lightly heeled shoes, and thigh high stockings. She rolled up her skirt just a hair.

She smiled as she fought her hair into a semi-tamed pony tail. She used some of the muggle hair products she had used the night of the Yule ball. Her hair would never look that nice again unless she was willing to spend three hours on it, and those were three hours she did not have – but this would suffice for now.

With one last look in the mirror and an unconscious sucking in of her stomach, she left towards the kitchens. She could find out who had stoked her fire and thank them, and perhaps get a bit of food. An early start was always a good thing. She could get more things done.

She walked into the kitchens and frowned. She was met by a bunch of little elves running around, stopping long enough to offer her a giant grin, or bob a quick curtsy before running off with excuses about the things they needed to be doing. A few came up to her and offered her pears and apples and other fruits, with trays full of toast or sweet breads. She could not help but feel conflicted at the fact that she enjoyed having them offer these things, but knew that it was pretty much servitude on their part. Unpaid servitude.

"They never do that for me," came a sour voice from behind her.

She nearly jumped out of her skin, whipping her head around to see who had spoken. Malfoy stood in front of her with no shoes on, in pajama pants, and only a robe covering his otherwise naked chest. Her lips pressed together. Would she never be rid of this guy? The pain in her neck from looking too quickly was agonizing. Bloody crick!

"Excuse me?"

"The whole bobbing and curtsying, and offering me food. I have to ask, _kindly_, before they really let me have anything," he said with a grumble.

Hermione blinked at him. This was the first time in…well, forever, that Draco Malfoy had ever spoken to her without so much as an insult in two sentences. She was impressed. Then again, it must be the time of the day. She was sure rich boys like him lolled about until noon if they could.

"A little bit of civility doesn't hurt, Malfoy," she responded. Draco gave her a once over.

"And you would know about that," he responded casually, before setting himself down on a bench that sat against the wall.

Well, she guessed after two sentences from him she had been pushing her luck, after all. Turning to take a pear and a slice of sweet bread from a proffered tray, Hermione busied herself with ignoring him as she would a lamp. After all, if she refused to give him acknowledgment, he might just leave.

Oh, but she dearly wished he would leave. She had spent the last month or so avoiding him as much as possible since that bathroom incident. Apart from meetings every so often, she had not seen his face - and the few times she had, she had been glad to see the back of him. She had plotted every which way on how to get it back for the bathroom thing, but still didn't know how and had given it up. His comment was seriously making her reconsider repaying him ten-fold.

"Trying to get the attention of that loser boyfriend of yours, I take it?" he muttered over his glass of Pumpkin juice. Hermione turned to him again. Lamps were not supposed to talk.

"What do you mean?" she asked, with a bit more tartness than she meant to. Somehow, no matter how much of an adult she tried to be, Draco freaking Malfoy always made doing so difficult.

He motioned from her head to her toes with his pinky finger, still holding onto his goblet. Somehow he made even that seem haughty.

"The hair in a semblance of decency," was that a compliment? He continued, "The tacky heels on, and the way you rolled up your skirt like a tramp."

Hermione's eyebrows climbed up her forehead. How on earth? With a sniff, she turned away from him.

"That is none of your business," she bit off, studying her food intently and ignoring the insults so pointedly that it might have as well been a scream.

She could always take her food and eat it in the halls, but it was chilly out and the warmth of the kitchen was much welcome. Hermione couldn't shrug off the feel of his eyes on her back.

Of course, no matter how much she ignored him, he kept on going.

"I don't even see why you try, anyway," he drawled, yawning as if the whole thing was just boring to him.

She heard the bench move back a little, and as he got up and walked past her to get out of the kitchens, he spoke as if at nobody.

"Might want to roll up the skirt higher, mudblood, and perhaps lose a few Stones. Controlling your mouth might prove useful."

Hermione opened her mouth to scream at him, but he was already gone. She looked at the slice of sweet bread in her hand and set it down with a smack on the plate. Several of the elves jumped.

Who did he think he was, anyway? The gall!

Still, she took a single bite out of her pear and stalked out, completely forgetting to thank the elves for keeping the fireplace going for her last night. She had only had a bite due to anger, surely that was it. Her skirt hiked up just by another hair was simply because she didn't want her skirts getting in her way. Nothing to do with Malfoy.

Her mood did not improve as the day went on, however. She basically stomped everywhere - or as much as anybody could stomp anywhere in heels, short as they were – and managed to scare away a few students who saw the Head Girl badge on her robe and came to ask her questions. No one wanted to get in the way of Hermione Granger in one of her foul tempers.

She had also gone up to McGonagall's office to report a few incidents and found that the headmistress was not in the castle. She would be gone for a week or two, she was informed by a professor who paid her no mind and dismissed her with a wave. That only added to her mood. Ignored!

Even Harry and Ron steered clear of her that day, especially Ron. Him most of all, really. She had snapped at him twice for absolutely no more reason than he mentioned there was something weird about her that day, and if she had bought new robes. How come Malfoy noticed every single change, but her boyfriend wouldn't know she was wearing heels if she bashed his head in with them?

That was one of the irritants. The biggest one, really. The second time she had snapped at him simply for saying hello. After that, she promised herself she'd try harder to get him to notice, and she'd try a bit harder to be nice to him.

At the end of the day she collapsed with a sigh on the bigger common room's couch, facing the fire.

What had gotten into her? This wasn't how the Head Girl was supposed to behave! Surely not. Those silly whims were for silly girls. Head Girls were composed, and stately and calm – they were friendly, and always had everything in hand. They knew what to do, and how to behave. Hermione was a Head Girl. Thus, Hermione was supposed to be composed, and stately; Hermione should always have everything in hand, know what to do, and how to behave…. _Right?_

Oh, but logic was flawed. At least, hers was.

With a sigh, she slumped deeper into the couch, wishing it'd swallow her alive.

"Of course he wouldn't notice! Here I go, making a fool of myself, and he doesn't even notice! Merlin, Malfoy noticed before him!"

"Talking to yourself, Granger?"

For the second time in a day, Hermione jumped. Literally jumped, this time. Except she ended up landing on her ass on the carpeted floor instead of on her feet. Staring ahead, Hermione's face reddened about ten shades darker. And blast that crick in her neck! It hurt!

Malfoy leaned against the wall at his leisure, where he could see her quite plainly sitting on the floor, her knees bent and her legs open.

"Teddybears… Quite…._dashing,_" he smirked.

A squeal escaped her lips and she shoved her hands between her legs, pushing down her skirt and covering her knickers, although her legs were still bare up to her mid thigh. She could not have believed her face could grow any hotter. How wrong she had been.

"Sod off, ferret. What the bloody hell do you think you're doing, anyway?"

"I'm standing in our common room. _Our_ common room, Granger, not just yours. I have as much right to be here as you," he replied, not moving an inch.

"You have no right to be spying on me!"

Trying to calm her voice and straighten her face didn't work too much. It probably looked like a grimace. She hoped he thought it was because she was angry, not embarrassed.

"Oh give over, Granger – it's not like I haven't seen more than your knickers already."

At that, Hermione exploded. Why did this always HAPPEN to her?

"Look, you dirty, insolent, loathsome prick!" she was standing on her feet now, walking towards him with a dangerous admonishing finger pointed in his direction.

Malfoy still didn't move, which only made her even more angry.

"You bloody well listen to me!" she screamed now, walking close enough to jab him repeatedly in the chest. Malfoy _still_ didn't move, yet his face had gone hard and he was glaring down at her with an eyebrow arched. Why was he not moving? "You'll leave me alone from now on or I'll! I'll—"

"You'll what, Granger?" Malfoy hissed dangerously. He unwound his arms, her finger paralyzed where it had been jabbing at his chest. "You'll hurt me?" he growled.

Suddenly the air was knocked out of her lungs. She felt cold granite pressing behind her, and gasped. Her head bounced off the wall and sharp pain dulled her senses. Draco didn't seem to notice.

"Or perhaps, you'll call your little pet dogs Potter and Weasel," his eyes narrowed, fixed on her face. "Will you have _them_ try and hurt me?"

The pain had become a throbbing now, and when she opened her eyes she saw spots, but Hermione shoved her arms against his chest trying to get him off her. He only moved closer. It was like trying to stop an avalanche with your bare fingers.

"Get off me, Malfoy," she croaked out. Was that really her voice? Funny, how thoughts about her voice could come into her mind when she had a wall of a boy – a man, Malfoy had stopped being a boy a while ago – how she could only think of that when a man was basically pressing her against the wall and cutting off her source of oxygen.

He was so close now that she could hear a growl in his throat. Hermione reached behind her, hopelessly feeling for her wand. Malfoy now was basically sandwiching her against the wall. Against a wall! Malfoy!

"Or what?" he smirked. Her vision was finally coming back. She mustered enough courage to look him in the eye. What stared back at her chilled her to the bone. There was cold anger, boring into her as if trying to consume her. Anger, and… madness.

"Do you really think that a girl of inferior birth like you could ever, ever hurt me?" he snapped, "you were lucky once, I won't let you do that again."

"You're just like your father. Cold and-" Hermione could never finish that sentence.

Draco shoved her against the wall again. Her head bounced against the granite for the second time, hard.

"Don't you dare! Don't you dare, you filthy bitch!" his voice was anything but calm, and Hermione could not feel beyond the throbbing in her head and a tight feeling at her throat. The pain had made her forget how to breathe.

"Don't you ever compare me to my father," he hissed.

Yet, suddenly, she heard a chuckle. Hermione forced herself to open up her eyes. She froze.

It wasn't that she had forgotten how to breathe. Malfoy had a hand to her throat, holding her in place if not precisely choking her. And that was saying much. A slight push of his hand and he'd cut her oxygen off.

Hot tears were gathering in her eyes. She could feel wetness in the back of her head. She was barely on the edge of consciousness as it was. The pain spread down her limbs and made it difficult to stand, much less focus any of her strength into shoving him off. She was going to die here. _Was_ she going to die here?

"Malfoy, please…" she whispered, frightened. Draco looked at her, then smiled. A cold smile.

She tried to push him away. She wanted to laugh. Why her? How could this always happen?

"Oh, so you know how to be civil." He smirked, "A bit of civility doesn't hurt, eh, Hermione?"

Hermione's eyes widened. She felt like they'd pop out of her skull. Did she hear him speak her name?

"So I'm like my father?" he continued, "and you, who are you like?"

She pushed, again, and he only pushed himself against her even more, locking her in place more tightly. Alarms in her head told her this was dangerous. As if the look in his eyes didn't scream that plainly enough!

Every breath hurt, if he didn't let her breathe a bit more soon she'd black out. But he continued his talking, uncaring of her rasping intake of air.

"Who are _you_ like, Granger? Surely no better than any other slut out there," the room was dark, now. How long had they been there, pressed against the wall?

A hand started sneaking up her thigh, and Hermione screamed. Nothing came out of her mouth, though. Two harsh blows to her head, and fright, had made her voice disappear.

"You're like all the others, aren't you?" his fingers caressed up slightly, snaking behind her as they went up. "Hiking up your skirt, trying to get attention…"

His voice had grown cold. But she could breathe, now, if she could not move. His other hand had gone from her neck, and wrapped itself behind her back, hoisting her up slightly on tip toe.

She could feel his breath on her neck as he spoke, making her feel as though burned. Yet she could not move. How long until she lost consciousness? Merlin, let it be soon!

"I'll give you attention, if that's what you want..." he whispered, and she could feel his malicious smile against her neck.

She stopped feeling. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she panted painfully. All she could do now was breathe and hope that blessed unconsciousness came soon.

His fingers found the elastic of her panties, and tugged. Hermione's head rung with alarm, a distant buzzing in her ears. She stopped listening, doing what she could to ignore him, ignoring his voice, trying her best to ignore his touch. Everything was blurring slightly, and she could not tell if from her tears or the wounds on her head.

His fingers moved slowly. tugging. His hand was pushing her shirt up behind her, exposing her stomach.

All she could do was breathe. Light, why was she not passing out?

Would destiny be so cruel as to keep her conscious while she..she...

She could not even think the words. Malfoy's lips were lightly nipping at her neck, his hair brushing her skin. She wanted to scream.

No strength to push, or to move.

A hand cupped her butt cheek and squeezed. Hermione felt a wail disappear in her throat. Everything was blurry. At least she would not see or remember too clearly.

When she felt his hand move to the clasp of her bra, she breathed in deeply and gave it one last try. Surprisingly, her voice came.

"M-Malfoy, stop…" she tried to shove, and fat, hot tears rolled down her neck. "P-Please.."

Suddenly, Malfoy jerked as if burned.

All that was keeping Hermione standing now were his hands holding her up, as it was.

He stared at her, as if seeing her for the first time. She looked at him, and saw wetness on his lips. He had tasted her tears.

Then she saw black.

* * *

Oh, man! Alright, guys. This is it for now! I hope you don't feel too much like killing me! This took me so long to write, since I deleted a huge chunk of it I wasn't happy with, and had to rewrite so many times.

Since it's already almost the end of December, Happy Holidays in advance! I'll be taking a minor break to spend time with family and friends (you know, the usual), so the next update will be soon after the beginning of January!

Until then, I hope I haven't left you in too much suspense! As always, I love you all forever for reviewing and such. Love!


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